I chuckled, enjoying their easy stories and the humor that had been prevalent throughout the day.
Poppy was laying out bases. When she tossed home plate on the ground, she put her fingers to her lips and whistled. “Everyone ready?”
“You good to go?” Jensen asked.
“I haven’t kicked a ball in years,” I admitted. I was doing a whole lot of things I hadn’t done in a long time. When had I become a hermit?
The answer rose in my head. It was when I moved out of a home where I thought I’d be married with kids. Well, I was married now. Might as well enjoy what could’ve been mine. And I was having a good time.
“Just don’t hold back.” Jensen grinned. “No one else will.”
This whole day had been bewildering since I’d arrived and was welcomed into the guys’ group around the grill. I had hung out with them since Poppy had abducted Clover, and there hadn’t been one underhanded comment—not about the jeans and shirt I was wearing. Not about the moving and mowing they had helped me with. Would that come later? Was I getting lulled into a false sense of security?
I didn’t think so. They just seemed to like hanging out. When something about helping each other was brought up, it was to check that everything was okay.
How was the furniture working? How was lawn care going? They stressed that I should give them a call if it snowed before I moved out and the snowblower didn’t work.
Each one of them reminded me of my grandpa, and a tightness formed in my chest.
Before we had eaten, knots had loosened in my shoulders. Clover had sat next to me and given me an extra piece of brownie that she was too full to eat. I caught Poppy watching the exchange, but she only smiled, her eyes twinkling.
Now I was on the same kickball team as Poppy, and my worry for Clover was increasing.
She was heading to third base. When she turned, she bent and propped her hands on her knees and squinted at Auggie, who was up first.
Everyone knew not to ram into her, right? She wasn’t that far along, but what if she collided with someone? What if the ball hit her right in the stomach? Would that be an issue? It wasn’t like she was eight months pregnant, though she’d probably still put herself on third base if she was.
The corner of my mouth tipped up, but I jerked my gaze away from the adorable, sexy combo that was my wife. She’d put her hair up in a clip. Her loose curls spilled out of the top. She’d worn loose jogging pants and an oversized shirt. She’d warned me her family liked to play lawn games. I’d expected bocce ball or cornhole. Kickball took more than a lawn, but Poppy and Jensen had the space.
Their place reminded me of Clover’s. With two stories, their house was much bigger, and he had the shop that he ran his cabinet business out of. But his home was surrounded by pastures and fields, all getting leased out to ranchers.
With five acres, Clover could hold a gathering like this. Food and lawn games. We could use the garage for space. I could clean out the shop and set up a grill like Jensen. Except Clover and I had little more than two months left together. Still, it would be nice to return some of the hospitality. Someday.
Poppy pitched the ball, and Auggie kicked it impressively far. I clapped and cheered for him with the others. He made it to first. When was the last time I’d been loud and celebratory? In this crowd, I’d stand out more if I wasn’t. More tension drained out of my shoulders.
Lily was next. She had a nice kick, but her oldest daughter caught it. Everyone cheered for that play, even my team and Lily.
Next was Jensen. The ball bounced, and his kick was wonky, but it worked out. He got to first, and Auggie advanced to second.
Jensen had staggered adults and kids in the lineup. Another kid was next. Laila. Alder’s stepdaughter. The strength of her kick caught me off guard. My fault for underestimating a quiet eight-year-old.
“Bases are loaded!” Poppy called, tossing the red ball up and down. The sound of that thing getting kicked brought me right back to elementary school. Coincidentally, that was the last time I’d played kickball. This was a much better experience than that.
“No pressure,” Clover called, but she was grinning.
I shook out my arms and rolled my neck. The adults had all done this before. The kids were killing it without their parents helping them. The line of spectators that was the younger kids was more expectant than a regular crowd. The weight of Clover’s gaze was the heaviest.
Don’t look like a wimp in front of her.
Clover and I were married out of sheer convenience, but the depths of my brain didn’t know that. It was natural for a husband to want to impress his wife.
I envisioned my kick, and when the ball came rolling toward me, it was like it was in slow motion. I took a few loping steps toward it, gauging when I’d swing my leg. The boing of the ball sounded and faded as the damn thing soared.
“Whoa!”
Was that Clover? I took off running. Rounding first, I had to slow down, or I’d take out Laila and her much shorter legs.
Poppy cupped her hands around her mouth. “Bring it in, Eliot!”
